California Promises
by KuryakinGirl
Summary: Stephen J. Bartowski breaks another promise.


Disclaimer—Characters belong to Josh Schwartz and Chris Fedak. Title borrowed from a song written by Steve Goodman. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Author's Notes—Apparently, I'm really on an angsty kick. More angst, but of a different variety here. Many thanks to my fellow Jellie/Twitter nightowls GoddessofBirth and Night_Lotus for the generous betas!

...Really hoping this lovely fanfic archive site puts up more character options... 'Cause this one would have Papa B and Mama B listed... Alas.

Spoilers—Through the end of Season 3

California Promises—Stephen J. Bartowski breaks another promise.

* * *

Of all the things he regrets—and there are many—he decides that the biggest one was one that just happened. While it's correlated to something from ages ago, it's mostly the _now_ part that he finds the most troubling. But, he isn't able to worry long.

It's the look on her face that he finds the most saddening. He wanted to tell her more, to tell her everything, but he won't get the opportunity, not now.

There are so many holes in his life. The holes where he kept things from his family. The holes where his family kept things from him. The holes where his marriage should've been. The holes where stronger bonds with his children should've been.

But, he'd promised her he'd tell her the whole story. And in a heartbeat, in a single pull of a trigger, his promise is broken, shattered, full of holes. Just like he is.

He flashes for a moment, all those years ago, when he lingered by the ocean, his toes begrudgingly in the sand. His wife stood before him, her face a contradiction. Anger and fury battled with sadness and pain. Reluctance fought determination. But there she stood, his beautiful Mary Elizabeth, her dark hair teased by the ocean breezes, her stance, resolute. The sun was fading, their shadows growing longer and longer, threatening to disappear into the twilight.

He'd understood the words she'd said but they didn't process right. And he'd always been a man who appreciated and understood processes. Mechanical ones were his favorite, but he understood some biological ones, but the emotional ones... those usually left him stumped.

He always wanted to tell her that she was the neurosurgeon. Didn't brains trump feelings?

She said she'd been offered a prestigious fellowship. She said she felt like she needed to go, she needed to help people. Hadn't she wanted to help her own family? Weren't they people, too?

It elicited such an emotional response, he didn't fully understand how that had happened. He was thinking so logically. Logic stated a husband and wife stayed together once they were married, once there were children to raise. Logic stated that children needed two parents who loved them dearly, to teach them and guide them and show them the paths to go.

His programming functioned so perfectly, why didn't hers?

She had said she needed time to think about it, time to consider what they talked about, and she promised she wouldn't do anything rash.

And they'd gone home. He'd cleaned the sand from his feet and even shook it out of his shoes, hopeful any further discussions wouldn't have to take place there.

And the next day, when the kids were at school, when he was in his lab, up to his ears in code, binary language running seamlessly through his head, something happened.

She broke her promise.

Mary Elizabeth packed a bag-a few, by the looks of the destruction left in the bedroom and walk-in closet-and she was gone.

No clues left behind to signal where she might go. No phone number where she could be reached. No nothing. Nothing except emptiness and holes.

All the logic he had couldn't unravel that problem. And, in his mind, the only kinds of problems out there were of the logic variety. It didn't add up. It was illogical. He was at a loss.

And, he knew, he was leaving his Eleanor in the same situation Mary Elizabeth had left him: filled with questions, desperate for answers, and yet none forthcoming.

But, there was nothing he could do now. Nothing he'd ever be able to do to try and make it right.

Just like pancakes...

* * *

End.


End file.
